


His She-Direwolf

by bedlinens



Series: His She-Direwolf [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-09 23:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18648316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bedlinens/pseuds/bedlinens
Summary: Spoilers for episode 8x03. I'll add my thoughts in notes in the work. SPOILERS AHEAD





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching the TYT review of the episode, and they mentioned Sansa got her dagger out to kill herself. This was not my read on it, especially considering the way Tyrion reacted to it. Him kissing her hand would have meant he gave her blessing to do away with her life, and it just didn't fit what I had seen from their interaction.

When he saw the dagger she pulled out, he felt fear, even more than he was already feeling. They were all dying, and they were hiding, but the desperation he had seen on her face had felt like the very last touch. It was only when he looked into her eyes that he saw the shift, from killing herself, to the idea of taking down as many white walkers as she could before she was done for. He wished he would have taken the dagger, not to steal her glory, but to protect her.

It was in that instant, though, that he realized that they should still be married. She had mentioned Daenerys being an obstacle, but Daenerys was a fantasy and she was real. She was everything nobody had expected her to be when she had appeared at King’s Landing. She was a true queen, whether or not she wore a crown. She was brave, she was a lioness who was not afraid of him, who had gone through hell and had made it back yet again, and who was ready to give her life to protect children and women and her people.

She was a she-wolf. Her people were her cubs. He wished to run by her side, wondering if he could trade his gold mane for some lupine attributes.

They should still be married. It was the thought he nursed, as he kissed her hand, promising himself that if they made it out of there alive, he would be winning his wife back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follow up to my ficlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was blown away by the response this short piece got. Let me know if the next one works for you too!

Tyrion found her in the Godswoods. He did not mean to pry, but when he had been told that she had left the castle, even though they were nursing their wounded and burning their dead (and the other dead), he had felt dread creep up on him. Therefore, as the puppy he hated being, he had gone to look for her.

He was not seen and was able to come very close to the old trees where Winterfell people worshipped the old Gods. Lady Sansa was there, alongside her brother, or the shell of who had once been her sibling.

“He died valiantly,” the boy, raven, whatever you wanted to call him, said.

“Is that supposed to ease my ache?”

“I do not know.”

Tyrion could see from the way she was wringing her hands in the furcoat that she was far from satisfied with this answer.

“I want my brother back,” she finally said. “Maybe he would have been sympathetic instead of treating me like one of his countless worshippers.”

“I’m no God,” the young man answered.

“You’re not my brother either, not when I need you to be.”

“I’m going away now,” he said, and his eyes turned white, looking all seeing yet completely blind.

She sighed and let out a soft cry.

He expected her to weep, to say something, anything, even if she thought she was speaking to herself. He would have had plenty to say, then again, he couldn’t help talking, would have talked to a dead tree branch if need be.

Knowing full well she would not take kindly to his spying on her, he made sure to walk on some dry leaves, to let her know he was there. She jumped and turned to face him but kept whatever weapon he knew had to be in her furcuffs hidden.

He uncharacteristically chose to not say a word. He was infringing on her space, on her private time, at a personal moment. She did not need some snide comment or awkward conversation starter.

She was so tall, yet it did not make him feel less of anything. When Cersei would use her height to tower over him, she did so with purpose, as if to let him know who was an abomination and who was not. With Sansa, there was nothing of the sort. She was tall because her father and mother had been so. It was just part of who she was, and was not meant to be a weapon or anything of the sort.

“I hate it when he does that,” she said, breaking the ominous silence.

“What, My Lady?” he asked.

“Just… disappear. Go away, as he says. Retreat into his all-knowing eye, not caring about the shell form he leaves behind since he has complete freedom when he’s wherever he goes or warg whoever he wants.”

“I would have loved being able to do it,” he answered truthfully. “Spare me a moment, don’t assume the worst... Can you picture Cersei trying to chastise me into whatever she would have set her mind to, me being able to make a point, and then just, woosh, vanished into myself where she could not retaliate?”

Almost begrudgingly, he saw the corner of her lips form the slightest of smile.

“I would have been worried for your body then, my Lord," she answered, coming to sit on a trunk nearby. "I’m quite certain slipping back into yourself would have meant discovering you had been cut or harmed, or….”

“Amputated of that dick she thinks she has more right to than I do.” He finished for her, and even though he saw that she would have phrased things differently, in her lady like fashion, she seemed to be on the same wavelength as he, when it came to what his sister craved and hated.

“I wish she had been born a man,” she said. “No demon could have come out of her entrails.”

“Myrcella was no demon….”

“No, I guess you’re right about that. Tommen wasn’t too bad either. Others though….”

He tried not to think about the babe his sister was carrying. What sort of evil would she unleash onto the world? He couldn’t help but think of a new Night King.

“We should have stayed married,” Tyrion found himself saying for the second time in a short time.

“I’m sorry, Lord Tyrion, this is not the place for bantering and talking about things that will never happen. I’m mourning my friend.”

There was more to his point, much more. He was not throwing those words around in hope of making her smile, but he let her chastise him, and instead, listen to what she was saying.

“Tell me about him then,” he offered, coming to stand near the trunk.

“Theon Greyjoy died there. Right there,” she said, pointing at a specific spot on the ground, as if it should be highlighted or shining. “I should know, I came and got his body.”

“You were close?” He asked, trying to fight this weird feeling he had never experienced as far as women were concerned, jealousy.

“I guess so. I know so. He… He was there when Ramsay was. He knew what happened to me. I knew what happened to him.”

He remembered how happy she had seemed to see the boy when he had shown up at Winterfell.

“Misery doth love company, and he was my only friend. Few people have ever known what it was like to be Ramsay’s pet, to be his victim, his doll, his to massacre, burn, pillage, rampage, and more. Theon knew. He became Reek because of that man, and I never got to tell him how proud I was that he got to find himself again.”

“I’m not well versed in the Old Gods, but I would like to believe, if it would not offend Them or you, that they would let him hear those words, wherever he is.”

“The Old Gods are everything the Sevens are not. Do not ask me where I stand, to make a pledge, to swear my faith with one or the other, but ever since I’ve been back to Winterfell, and ever since I became its Lady again, I find myself pondering, begrudgingly. I think about the Gods my father trusted with his soul, and the good it did him, and those my mother worshipped, with similar results.”

“Gods are smiteful creatures…”

“What if they’re not? I do not mean to insult you or your faith, if you have any, but what if, when it came down to it, people were to blame, and Gods were just a nifty excuse for what they did?”

“I believe you very eloquently made the point I have been trying to tell people for ages.”

“It was not the Seven, or the Old Gods, or even the God of Light that prompted Ramsay to be the despicable being he was.”

To his surprise, she spat on the ground, as if she could not bear the feeling of this name in her mouth one second longer.

“See?” She asked. “The Seven would have had me whipped for this. The Old Gods will soak in my spit and if they are willing, they will alleviate some of my pain. It does not make them superior. It’s about perhaps what I am allowing them to do for me, if that makes any sense?” She asked, and he felt himself drowning in her green eyes, so honest, and clear.

There was no foul play here, she was not trying to trap him into saying something that would get him beheaded by priests and more. She was in her own head, airing out thoughts that were plaguing her, and he just welcomed it, along with the selfish yet very true blessing he felt to be the receptacle of her inner ponderings.

“Theon… He was torn. He believed in his family creed, but he was raised here and saw my father’s devotion to the Gods.”

“What is dead can never die,” Tyrion said under his breath.

“Exactly. Except it fills me with anger, and pain, and doubt,” she exclaimed, as she struggled with the emotions overcoming her. “He was dead, for that was how he was brought into this world, but at times it felt like he was a dead man walking. I think he died several times at Ramsay’s hands, the way I’ve felt myself slip sometimes, and it makes me wonder, am I a dead woman walking too?”

“You’re very much alive, My Lady, please believe me when I say that. I can see the life on your cheeks, and the way they have pinkened because of the cold. I can see the way you shiver slightly when a frosty wind comes our way. I can see the tears in your eyes as you mention your dead friend. At times I feel like I catch a glimpse of the hatred you had for the man who took my place by your side, but at other times, it’s not there.”

“I try not to hate him, not for the Gods, not for any higher purpose one can think about. I don’t want him to keep on living through my hatred. He’s dead. Let him stay this way, even if it means that I need to control my anger, to pretend that I’ve made peace with what happened to me. I think that’s why Theon was so important. We both made it out alive, we both outlived our tormentor. Except now I am alone, telling myself all those dignified things, those shining principles, yet struggling not to just keep on spitting on the ground whenever I say his name. I wish I could will him out of existence, out of memory.”

He said nothing, but very carefully, and very gently, put a hand on top of her muffed hands.

She was alive, and he could not bear the thought of her having second thoughts about it. What she went through made her stronger, and though he hated that she had to suffer time and time again, the princess he had met upon coming to Winterfell all those years ago had now shed her skin and revealed a magnificent queen.

He felt her stiffen, and realized that their conversation had been one-sided, as she had confessed her fears, and her aches, while he had listened.

“Have you ever wondered how a philanderer like me never ended up having children?”

“Men do want their sons,” she said, wiping her eyes quickly.

“I don’t. I want daughters, with their mother’s hair, her laugh, and perhaps a few reminders of my own mother in them. Let them big men have their sons. I would not spit on one, of course, as every child deserves to be cherished, but if it was up to me, I would die surrounded by my wife, our daughters, a flock of wonderful doves, caring for their beloved papa, praying to redeem his sins with their tears.”

How strange it felt not to mention anything about someone sucking his cock, yet it was the truth.

“How come you never had children then? I remember you doing quite a lot of leg work when it came to creating this flock of doves,” she said, with a smile that was not meant to shame him, yet did.

He had saddled her with his lover as her handmaiden in order to keep tabs on her. He had fucked another woman in their bed. He had shagged other women after they had said their wows.

“I asked myself the same question, when I was younger,” he started again, trying to lighten up the mood while telling his secret, one he knew she would keep. “My cousins, all those Lannisters bastards, whether of good birth or not, they had bastards of their own in each town, each brothel, and they complained endlessly about the financial burden those kids were. However, I did my fair share of leg work, as you put it (she blushed and he wanted to smile), and never had anybody come to me with a babe. I wondered if I was unable to have children.”

“And then one girl came….”

“No. No girl came forward with the fruit of my entrails. I remember this party I was at once…”

Orgy was the right word to describe the party, but they both knew how to read between the lines.

“It was then I understood. Whores would have my coin, but not my offsprings. As soon as they were done with their parts, they’d run to take so many potions you’d thought I could have given them greyscale.”

The look in her eyes was so sad, yet he did not feel pitied. This was his story, his sad tale of woe. Compared to what she had endured, it was a trifle.

“To this day, I still don’t know if I can father a child.”

“After all the things he did to me, I dreaded carrying Ramsay’s child,” Sansa said softly. “I wondered if I could love it, if it was doomed, if I would become another Cersei. Then I was not pregnant, and the worry should have been lifted, but it was not. I do wonder if I am capable of bringing a child into this world. But in the end it’s all good I guess, I suppose I was always meant to be a crone.”

 “You were not. You’ll have children and love them.”

“You’ll have your flock of doves, and the wife that will give them to you.”

He wanted to make a joke, something about them trying to get started on business, to settle both their worries, but he held his tongue, aware that it was the unease he felt that wanted him to ruin the moment. It was not a disagreeable moment, far from it, it was deep, and meaningful, and he was not sure he knew how to deal with that. However, if she would let him, he could learn.

“What should I tell Yara, when she comes to claim her brother’s corpse?” Sansa said, as her stare locked on the spot on the ground again.

“That he should be buried in the crypt, as he was one of us,” Bran said, making them tear apart from one another. “That’s what he would have wanted.”

“If you say so, three eyed-raven,” Sansa answered. “You’re freezing!” she exclaimed as she watched her younger brother. “Let’s get you back inside.”

“I dreamt of doves,” Bran said, as his sister started pushing the heavy contraption back to the castle.

Tyrion stayed behind for a moment, asking the old Gods and the new ones to grant him a chance at this future he had not known he wanted.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more... Please do let me know what you thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be in need of a beta, available as in right now-ish: I'm trying to outrun the clock before the next episode and all my careful setting gets blown to pieces.
> 
> But I'm not above begging, please do leave a word if you feel like it. I have never felt as happy as I do when there's a notification for a comment in my inbox.

“Lord Tyrion, would you have a second to spare?” Sansa asked, and he was immediately eagerly nodding his head.

The last days, weeks really, had been hectic. He had barely seen her, always from afar, never had the chance to try and exchange a quip with her.

“Thank you, my Lord, I’ll be waiting in the crypt. Join me whenever you’re finished with this meeting.”

She curtsied and he bowed.

He needed more than a moment to realize all conversations around them had stopped. He had been talking with Brienne, Jamie, Pod and most importantly, Varys, planning their trip back to King’s Landing. This was all they talked about lately. Cersei the First was about to be the one and only of her name, every one of them agreed so but seemed at odds about who was to end her reign.

Jamie had shared the news of her pregnancy, as they had gotten word from court that the Queen was carrying Euron Greyjoy’s child. If only…. The seaman probably thought he had won the first prize at some random lottery, shooting straight and getting his seed in the woman’s belly. It had prompted his brother to share what they both knew already.

The look of disgust in Brienne’s eyes upon hearing the news had almost brought Jamie to his knees, and Tyrion had not been able to begrudge her for such a reaction. He only knew part of their story, but she had vouched for Jamie when he had arrived in Winterfell, and this bit of news truly felt like a dagger in her back.

“What?” He finally said, when none of his companions uttered a word.

“Are you arranging second nuptials?” Varys finally asked in that annoyingly sweet voice of his.

“Go fuck yourself. Oh wait, you can’t!” Tyrion exclaimed as if suddenly remembering the man’s predicament.

“Second nuptials? You are all crazy,” Brienne exclaimed. “First this one shags your sister, then we defeat the Night King only to discover he was just an obstacle and not the actual purpose of our quest. Then, we have to deal with this whole drama between your dragon queen and Snow, and now, we’re talking wedding bells and more? I swear to the Gods, I will never understand any of you people.”

Tyrion wished he could strike back, but truth be told, well she was speaking it, the truth, that was. Ser Brienne was the only one level-headed among them, and given her reputation and story, this did not bode well for the lot of them. Then again, reputations were not meant to be trusted, or so he wished people would see. What you had been once, or for a moment in your life did not have to define who you were for the rest of it.

“I was saying,” Jamie started again, and Tyrion was pulled back in strategic consideration. If there was someone who knew his way in and out of their sister, pun unintended it was the knight, and since Daenerys would not allow him in her presence, her Hand had been asked to hear him and get back at her what was relevant and what was not.

Thankfully, Varys was there too, as Tyrion kept on having to tell himself to pay attention. What did his Lady want? She had had that look in her eyes, the one where she tried to broadcast confidence, but he could see the insecurity hiding. Lady Sansa of Winterfell was never insecure. She led her people with an iron fist in a fur glove. They would have all died for her, and she for them.

He couldn’t help but think of the few snowflakes that had hanged to her hair, as if trying to illuminate her natural beauty. He found himself rubbing his hand against his scarred face, wondering how fitting it was that the ugliest of them all was desperate for some time with the fairest of them all. Did she think of it? Did she take notice of his flaw when her eyes laid upon him? Did it made her want to recoil, but as the perfect lady she was, she kept it in? There was a pain in his… He guessed it was his heart. It had been so long since anything but hatred and ennui had fueled his life, it felt like he was rediscovering part of him he had stopped taking into account.

“Just go, for Fuck’s sake,” Jamie exclaimed suddenly. “You know I hate repeating myself, and you’re not listening to a word I say.”

“You go fuck yourself,” he fought back quickly. “That will give us better results than you fucking our sister….”

Pod and Brienne had to intervene to tear them apart, and Tyrion wish he did not feel as little a man as the Imp he was supposed to be. It had not been fair to attack his brother, he had been fooled by Cersei too, except it was so goddamn easy to use it against perfect Jamie.

He wrapped himself in his coat, and saw a couple of unsullied waiting for him on the far side of the room. He made sure to walk the other way, not ready to go back and report to his queen.

It felt wrong to call her so, but that was what she was.

He made his way to the crypt, which had been repaired ever since the Night King had raised the Starks from all generations. Sansa was there, in front of the statue of her father, her hand linked together, as she seemed to mouth words but not say them out loud.

“My Lady,” He said, not wanting to give her any reason to think he was spying.

“Were you followed?” She asked quickly.

“Quite probably, but the Unsullied and Dothrakis all fear this place.”

“Meaning we only have to worry about the rest of her army….” She whispered bitterly.

She kissed her father’s hand, and he forgot for a second it was a statue, as she showed it so much deference.

“My Lord, I need to have a talk with you, but you need to swear something first.”

“Anything.” He offered without giving it a thought.

“Remember when you mentioned the doves or daughters you wished you would father? Then, you mentioned that every child deserved to be loved, then you went back to another point. I cannot ask you to betray your dragon queen, but can you swear that what you said then was the truth, that children are innocent?”

Words were pressed against his lips, begging to come out, about “his” dragon queen. She was not “his” anything, she was the dragon queen. Meanwhile Sansa was “his” Lady.

“I swear on whatever you deem worthy that I did not lie when I shared my private thoughts with you,” he offered. “What is going on, my Lady? You’re making me worried with the way you fidget.”

“I don’t.’

"You do. Unknowing eyes would not be able to tell, but I can.”

He came closer to her, and she sighed heavily. He gestured for them to take a seat, far from the door, and she followed. She did not move away when he sat next to her, and he felt emboldened.

“My sister,” she started.

“Seems like sisters are a common theme for us today,” he said, when she needed a moment to go on.

“Hum?”

“You heard about her joyful announcement?”

The woman nodded, and he wanted to keep talking so that she’d keep her eyes fixated on him, forever.

“Well, she is not lying, but Euron is not the one who got the deed done.”

“Ser Jamie…” Sansa whispered right away. “I need to get to Brienne. No, wait, I need to…. I’ll get to Brienne. However, this was not why I asked for a moment of your time.”

“You can ask for more.”

“I can’t. Your dragon queen keeps you very busy.”

That pronoun again.

“The Targyaren Queen has been demanding indeed, but I would always find time for you.”

“Answer this, Lord Tyrion. When you look at me, do you see the child who tried to convince you to prank your nephew and sister? Wait, do not answer, I don’t want to know, I need to believe you have respect for me.”

“I do. More than you can tell.”

“I hope it’s true.”

There was some noise outside, and they both worried about who was coming to fetch him.

“Would your dragon queen kill children?” She suddenly asked.

He was about to say she wouldn’t, when he remembered the Tarly family, and her hatred of certain people.

“I would like to believe so, but I find myself having second thoughts.”

“Then I can’t tell you.”

“You must. You already said too much, and you know it. You talked about your sister, you talked about babes, and about the queen.”

Did he sound desperate? Well he was. To be so close to her inner circle, to be able to hear a secret she had to keep and be trusted with it, he wanted nothing more. Well, he did want more, but beggars could not be chosers.

Sansa closed her eyes, and he forgot to breathe. She was painstakingly beautiful, and her ache made him feel like he was bleeding.

“Please, my Lady, entrust me with your confession. Even when they tried me for Joffrey’s murder, I never thought for a second you could have anything to do with it and tried to get you off the culprit list.”

“Did you?” She asked, opening her wide eyes, staring into his.

“I did. You were my wife. You were a child. You had been abused, time and time again, and I would be damned before I let them associate me in hurting you more.”

“I’m sorry I did not beg for us to turn back and get my husband,” she said, and knowing she meant him, he felt warmth in his belly.

“You saved yourself, and I could never begrudge you for this. Now please, my Lady, before all our escorts barge in, please tell me what you needed to say.”

He felt like he was making the biggest wager of his life, which felt stupid considering all the times he had found himself close to being murdered lately.

“My sister, Arya,” she said slowly. “What does your queen think about Late King Robert?”

“I don’t think she spare him much thought. Sure, when he was trying to kill her, he was high on her list, but nowadays….” He said, trying to thread together the picture she was alluding to.

“He had a son, Gendry, if you remember. My sister, she’s having his babe.”

“Oh.”

Silence fell upon them, and thoughts were racing through his head. Daenerys had been alright with letting Gendry live so far, and he did not know if she was aware of the blood he was from. Perhaps she would not care. However, his having a bloodline could bring unwanted attention. Would she be so petty as to kill the child Arya would bring into this world? He hoped not.

“How far along?” He finally asked.

“She just found out. It happened the night of the battle.”

Meaning three months give or take, he quickly calculated in his head.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he finally said. “I can’t tell you right now what Daenerys would do, but I can promise that before your sister has her child, I will have done my best to ensure it does not pay the price of a revenge that should have been put to bed ages ago.”

It was not enough, yet, he couldn’t offer more. He would do everything in his power to make sure nothing happened to this sweet child. Though, given his mother, chances were the offspring would jump out of the womb fully armed and swinging an axe…

 “Thank you, my Lord.”

“You can call Tyrion, my Lady.”

“You can call me Sansa, Tyrion,” she replied with a sweet smile, and there was something else in her eyes.

Oh Gods, he figured as he remembered their conversation from those weeks before. She thought she was meant to be a crone, and her younger sister would be the first one to have a child. It had to be painful. He felt weirdly amazed by the fact that she cared only about the brat who was the most skilled killer amongst their ranks. Cersei would have poisoned any girl who would have done something before she did.

“You’ll have your babes,” he said, squeezing her hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she pretended as she looked straight ahead.

Yet she did not shake his hand off.

“A few nights ago, I dreamt about when you first arrived in King’s Landing, and about my bitch of a sister calling you “little dove”, Tyrion said, feeling the need to get this off his chest.

“She did nickname me so.”

“When I mentioned doves, as a metaphor for daughters, I had no second thoughts, there was no allusion to look for her spiteful words. I’m sorry if you thought I was playing with the theme she set.”

It had kept him awake several nights. Doves were peaceful birds, lovely ones too. There was nothing his sister couldn’t muddy up it seemed.

“It never crossed my mind,” she finally said, “I have to admit I never put this together.”

“Good. I have so much….

Love.

“Respect for you,” he said, using another feeling he carried for her. “I would hate for you to think I have anything in common with … her…”

“It’s very thoughtful of you,” she answered and then they heard noise that meant they were not alone. “I hope you’ll have your doves.”

“I’m just waiting for the moment when you realize that you’re the one who is supposed to grace my life with them,” he said with a roguish look.

She threw her head back and laughed, something so unexpected in a crypt, he found himself smiling, on the verge of joining her.

“This all “we should still be married” thing again? You never give up, do you, my Lord?”

“I told you to call me Tyrion…”

She seemed to think and have to sort out through several statements she wanted to make, but as Pod entered the crypt, she said:

“Please, Lord Tyrion, Tyrion,” she corrected under his stare,” ask your dragon queen what she thinks of this first. I am quite certain she will not be on board.”

“Does that mean you are?” He asked as she got up and started moving away.

“It just means that women have always been your downfall my Lord, and we’re fighting a war too big for me to spare thoughts on something that would never happen.”

“That was not a no!” He yelled, as she disappeared.

“That wasn’t a yes either!” He thought he heard faintly.

Damn. Women had indeed always been his downfall, Tysha, Shae, Cersei, hell, even his own mother. However he felt like it was time to change his stripes and let one woman be his elevation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please.... *sonotabovebegging*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On we go.  
> A/N: I don't hate Daenerys per se. I even wrote five years ago a fanfiction where she and Jon had to get married after Cersei and Tommen had been defeated, where it was agreed that since she could not have children and Jon had taken a vow by becoming a man on the wall, they had agreed that the throne would be inherrited by Sansa and Tyrion's brats. Point is: I believe that things have been going too well for Daenerys for a long time, and given the Targyaren propension to burn everything down, I really worry about her. I hope I'll manage to convey this in the next chapter.

  As he rode in Daenerys’ coach, Tyrion found himself wishing he was anywhere but there.

  They had been on the road for over a month now, and the dead from the battle of Winterfell had been put to rest over four months ago, nearly five. In the meantime, as they discussed strategy, nitpicked, overthought, underthought if such a thing was possible, and more, he had been inhabited with feelings, those he usually buried under alcohol. However, since that night in the crypt, he found it less appealing. What had been ignited then, perhaps ignited again even, he did not want to stop feeling it, ever. He felt like he had awaken from a slumber, like he was coming out of his cocoon or something along those lines. For so long he had self-medicated his feelings, even those he did not have but feared he might experience, he just did not want to go back there. He did not want to miss a thing, whether it was a sting as he remembered his father’s disdain, his anger at his brother’s holier-than-thou attitude, or this butterfly feeling he felt in his stomach when his stare fell upon a red-haired woman he longed to call his.  

  Time had not been spent idly, otherwise he would have won his wife already, or so he often told himself, trying to bide himself some hope and patience. Ever since their conversation in the crypt, it felt like people were conspiring to make sure they were never left alone anymore. If he did not know better, he would have suspected the ghost of Lord Baelish to be plaguing them so.

  Littlefinger had been buried in an unmarked grave, but Arya had managed to let him know that she had severed the attributes he was know for and had fed them to some stray dogs. Tyrion had smiled, feeling slightly vindicated. If the man had not interfered, and sparked the Lannister and Stark feud every chance he got, perhaps things would have turned differently… Or maybe they had needed for this despiteful man to spew hatred between them so that Joffrey would think it was a good trick to play on both his uncle and his former fiancé to have them tie the knot.

  Speaking of the younger Stark girl, since Sansa had told him their big secret, he could see the way her figure changed, but it was so light that most people just assumed that she was filling up, becoming a young woman and leaving her girl body behind. However, he knew better. He had held her hair once while she threw up her stomach’s content. No words had been exchanged, though he had no doubt that if he had initiated any kind of small talk, she probably would have stabbed him in the eye. However, from their silent interaction, he understood that Sansa ha told her sister about letting him know about her condition. He wondered how that conversation had gone, especially in a castle where everybody surrounded everyone else all the time. It really had felt like Winterfell could not take the toll of hosting all of them, and that their departure was needed.

It was still winter, and no one knew how long it would last, therefore their first few weeks on the roads had been laborious, having to deal with the snow without the precious accommodation that the castle had provided.

Yet, here they were. The Targyaren queen, the Stark siblings, including the three-eyed raven, alongside their men and more who had rallied them. Even Tormund was part of the trip, looking terribly out of place, but having said that he had lost his woman one too many times to let her out of his sight again. Brienne had knocked him out for uttering such words, but Tyrion could not blame the wildling for his feeling. His phrasing could have been more refined, that was for certain, but this was exactly what he would have shouted if anybody had tried to dissuade Sansa to come along on this trip. He liked to believe he would have stayed behind in Winterfell with her, but he was still Hand to the queen, a pin which felt heavier and heavier on his chest every day that went by.

  “Lord Tyrion,” Daenerys said, and he turned to face her.

  She had done a superb job of ignoring him for the past four weeks or so, only listening to him when she took advice from her small council. It had given him perspective, reinforced by that provided by his new philosophy in life. All his life, he had pined for women who wanted something from him. Tysha perhaps had been the exception, but then again they were only married for a fortnight before his father did what he did best. Shae had expected to be lifted out of her condition, Cersei had expecting him to stand and take each blow she felt like dealing him, while savoring his pain. Daenerys made him believe he was a brilliant mastermind, which he was, period, but in doing so, she had created a fake infatuation in him for her. He had needed to be needed.

  Sansa did not expect anything from him. She had no plans for what he would provide her if she let him in her skirts. She just valued him, as a man, as someone who had been her partner during dark times. She could survive on her own, even though she was a social creature. She had been burnt too many times, and she did not let herself hope or long for anything anymore. Therefore, when she had come to him, to let him know about Arya’s condition, it had not been about having him pull some strings for herself. It had been about doing the only thing she knew how to do, take care of her people. She did not have a hidden purpose, a secret agenda. She only wanted to make her mother proud while trying to take care of everyone she could.

  He had seen her interact with Little Sam, and had known instinctively how she was able to compartmentalize, between the maiden who wished she would get her shot at motherhood, while also deeply caring about how the young boy was doing, just because he was one of her subjects.

  “Varys tells me you have started a stupid game with Sansa,” Daenerys said finally, and swore to himself that he would squash any spider that he ever got to meet, until the day he died.

“I am certain I do not know what you mean. Lady Sansa and….”

“How come you call her “lady” and I’ve barely heard a “my queen” addressed my way in days, weeks even?

Was she jealous? He could not help but remember the Targyaren temper. They could tame dragons, sure, but there was a price to pay for this skill, or so he believed more and more.

“You know very well my queen that Lady Sansa were wed many cycles ago, that we share an history that nothing can undermine,” he said, speaking the truth yet making sure he did not let his passion shine further into his words.

“She hates me.”

“Milady does not hate, it’s a commoner’s feeling. She disapproves, at best,” he offered, though he wondered if Daenerys was right, and furthermore, if it made any difference to him.

The two women could not see eye to eye, but it was natural, given one was coming to reap the benefit of the hard work the other had done to reunite the North. He was quite possibly biased.

“I don’t need her disapproval. I’ve got too much on my plate. I’m so close to getting everything I worked for.”

“My advice would be to ignore her then, plain and simple.”

Something he would be utterly unable to do.

“I pondered for weeks about whether I could tell you what I found out on the night of the battle, given your connection to Sansa, but as we approach King’s Landing, I need to trust my Hand, or get a new one,” she announced, and several thoughts ran through his mind.

It had been five months since the battle, and she had kept secrets from her Hand? Why did it not bother him more? Did it have anything to do with his Lady? Then it would be something else altogether.

“I’m all ears, my queen,” he said.

He noticed that she knocked a couple of times on the roof of the coach, prompting Dothraki riders to surrender them, blocking anyone from spying.

“Jon Snow told me that he had discovered that he was the son of my brother Rhaegar, and Lyanna Stark. He was named Aegon by his parents before they had to give him away to Ned Stark in order to protect him from Robert Baratheon’s wrath.”

“Oh.”

Yes, sometimes, he was witty beyond what could be expected.

“He is therefore…”

“My nephew. That is not my issue,” she said curtly.

Targyarens…  Then again, given his siblings’ history he was not sure he got to judge how others lived.

“As your brother’s heir, Jon Snow has a better claim to the Iron Throne than you do,” he whispered as the thought dawned on him.

“He says he doesn’t want it, that he never wanted it. The thing that perturbs him the most is the fact that we are related,” she went on, looking especially annoyed at this tidbit.

“The Starks were never big on incest,” he said.

“He’s no Stark. He’s a Targyaren, and if people learn his true parentage, he could overthrow me.”

“Have you… Have you been intimate since this revelation? Forgive me for asking such a personal question…”

“Nonsense. We haven’t. As I said, he focuses on the wrong part of this problem. I wonder if we can salvage what we had.”

He wondered too, but would not say it out loud. If they did not mend their relationship, he feared Daenerys might decide to end him, to make sure he would never take her place. He hated that his mind went there, but the look in the dragon queen’s eyes had led him there. Jon Snow, or whatever his name was, had to embrace the Targyaren way of love, or he would be endangering his family.

“I thought about putting Sansa and that dirty child, Arya, in chains, in order for him to convince me of his intentions, but since he took a knee in front of me, ages ago, I am not sure there are words he could say that would have speak louder than what he did then. Therefore, I was thinking of finding a knight I relied upon and marry him to Sansa, so that she would stay in Winterfell with him, and Jon would slowly forget about the way Starks did things.”

He held his breath. Was she suggesting…?

“Who might be worthy of her, in your opinion? I don’t want to blow this trick and have it backfire by pairing her with someone who would not respect her, no matter how much I sometime have to fight the urge to remind her that I am her rightful queen.”

If she had had one of her dragons blew fire in his face, it would have felt gentler. He was not on the list. She had never considered letting him claim back his wife.

“My queen, don’t you think she would trust a man she had once been married to and had treated her nicely?” He stuttered.

“Varys told me you nursed this delusion. The Queen’s Hand will have to be at King’s Landing, and Sansa would always be a wedge between me and her brother.”

She was so cold. Ice cold. For someone who had been born under the burning sun, she seemed to share the same cold blood that ran through her dragons’ veins.

“It is no delusion. No one is irreplaceable. I have led an unhealthy life, my heart could give out at any second, and you would have to find another Hand. Life is unpredictable.”

“Missandei was right, you have feelings for the little tart…”

He bit his tongue. It was a fight for another day. Unknowingly, she had given him leverage. She wanted Jon Snow to be her consort, and she would not get him back if she did anything to his sister.

They had not talk about their familial piety lately, but he could tell from having seen how Jon Snow fretted over his …. Cousins? That he still considered them his flesh and blood, his true siblings, and that he would kill anyone who did anything to them. Perhaps it would also come in handy when Arya popped her baby, if someone had the misfortune of spilling the Baratheon’s beans.

Tyrion looked at the queen, mimicking the way he used to, before everything. He had liked or loved her ruthlessness, the fact that she was willing to fight for what she thought was hers. However, he was realizing she had never seen that they were cut from the same cloth.  She had seen his strategic acumen, but she had been short-sighted, in not noticing that he had debts to settle, fight to lead, and more. If getting revenge for all the shit he had gotten in life had fueled him before, he had another star guiding him, true north. Her hair was red like fire, and though she had grown up in the coldest weather of the Seven Kingdoms, she was warmed than girls from the rest of the world.

There was some yelling, and the coach stopped.

“What’s going on?” Daenerys asked, and he opened the door to enquire.

His eyes met Sansa, who was in the coach behind them and had done the same.

“Milady?” He asked.

“It’s Nymeria,” she said, as if she did not expect it to make any sense to him.

Yet it did. Arya had jumped off the coach where she had been hiding and was reuniting with her direwolf.

Tyrion felt sorrow, as he remembered what had happened to Sansa’s pet. The woman had never gotten a break from any despair, or so it really felt.

He got out of the coach, telling the queen he would be right back, then surrounded himself in the fur coats he still needed.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he whispered to the lady of Winterfell.

She gave him a look, as if she could not believe he knew what he was talking about, but he did, and tears formed in her eyes.

“Goddamn Cersei. Goddamn Joffrey,” she whispered.

“It’s a good thing Jon went ahead,” Arya interrupted them with huge wolf by her side. “Nymeria is heavy. Given how likely the chances are that there are more direwolves anywhere, I’m guessing she took a page from the Targyaren love book and had a tryst with Ghost.”

“You ladies know?” He uttered, hoping no one had heard them.

They nodded, and he was amazed by their loyalty to their brother, for he clearly was not a cousin in their book.

“When she gives birth, you should have one from the litter,” Arya told her sister. “It’s only fair.”

“I won’t be able to explain why I’m weeping, but that is what will happen if you people keep on crushing my emotions like it’s just another day,” Sansa said, forcing a smile on her face. “Thank you, sister, I would be delighted to take care of any present you decide to bless me with, but let’s not consider retribution or anything of the sort. It would just be you making up for all the birthdays you missed.”

“What should I tell Daenerys?” Tyrion interrupted them, not wanting to do anything that would put the women in jeopardy.

“Tell her the caravan can go on. If she asks why we stop, tell her my direwolf came back after years of being gone. She loves her dragon, and Jon, she had seen how he is with Ghost, she should be able to understand. She’ll probably be prissy about the fact that we stopped for little old me to be reunited with my wolf, but she’ll let it slide,” Arya said.

“I shall.”

He did not realize he had not moved until the brunette cleared her throat.

“Just get married again already,” she said, and he knew it was a joke, but there was a light in Sansa’s eyes.

“If I have my way, we’ll do soon,” he said, feeling proud as he told the younger sister that he intended to be her brother-in-law once again, and knowing that she did not seem to find the idea so surprising. “Let’s just kill Cersei, and then we’ll be able to have the fanciest wedding you never dreamt you had….”

“You forgot to ask me if I wanted to,” Sansa said.

“You don’t fool me,” he said with a wink. “But do put a fight of wit. I believe it will make it even more evident for you how well suited we are for each other.”

“Plus, when it happens, you’ll have a direwolf, sister. That will keep the Imp on his toes,” Arya said.

“I’m always on my toes when It comes to your sister. Her fault for being so tall,” he said with laughter in his eyes.

“Oh my Gods, what did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Does she mean you or me?” He asked Arya.

“Probably both…. Quick, people are coming, go back with the ice queen.”

He did so, his heart light in a way it had almost never been before. If Arya, the lady of Death, blessed their union, what could Daenerys really do about it?

He hid his thought as he climbed back in the coach and told the story of the missing and recovered direwolf. Daenerys started talking about Jon Snow. He tuned it out, as he considered how such a small exchange could make his hear sing with joy.

Doves… He would not let himself whisper of a dream, yet it was the thought that made everything bearable.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one chapter I will write next. I was hoping to write a couple more, let's see if I can outrun the clock before 8x04.  
> And I ain't done writing. I keep coming up with more ideas, more settings, more....  
> So please do leave a word! They mean the world to me!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never been as nervous as I am now, putting this part out there. I had it planned since seeing the episode. I hope you'll see things my way.

« Cersei is dead, » Sansa said, and Tyrion had never felt more terrified in his life.

Forget about the Blackwater battle, even the Winterfell one. This, right now, topped it all.

What had once been his sister was on the ground, lifeless, and Sansa was covered in her blood.

“Yes she is, sister,” Arya said, coming up slowly to the young woman, trying to keep her tone steady, in order to give her something to hold on to.

He should have been helping her, but he was still suffering from shock. When Cersei had grabbed Sansa and ran up the stairs, saying she would kill her if they attempted to reach her, he had felt the most terrible fright in his entire life.

“I stuck her with the pointy end,” Sansa went on, gesturing to the knife she was holding in her bloody hand.

“As I told you to. You did good, Sansa, you avenged Father and Mother.”

“Did I?” The red-head asked, still half in trance. “It did not feel like that.”

“Then what did it feel like?” Tyrion finally asked, knowing they needed the woman to drop the knife before shock made her do something different.

She would never stab herself, except if she thought she was beyond redemption.

“She called me ‘little dove’, as she dragged me here by my hair, and I could feel it all again, all those times she and Joffrey humiliated me, put me on display, made sure everybody could witness my shame, and my naivety. I could feel like I did back then, unable to do anything but suffer, and pray one day one of my brothers would come and deliver me. Yet no brother came.”

“That was then, and now is now. Back then, you relied upon people you loved for security and help, and you were right to do so, even though they never managed to rescue you,” Tyrion said. “Now, you are your own person, your very own champion. You slayed your dragon. Cersei will never call anyone anything again.”

“Aren’t you mad I got the deed done?” Sansa asked, finally looking over at him. “I know people will be annoyed I was the one to end her life. They had it all planned, even yourself, so many plans that involved one of you taking Cersei down, and yet, it was me, the one no one had considered for the job, who got it done.”

“I only feel admiration for the courage you displayed, and gratitude for the fact that you rid us all of this devil,” he said softly. “Now, My Lady, if you please, how about putting the knife down?”

She seemed to take notice of the fact that she was still holding the weapon, and out of nowhere, Tyrion was reminded of that time in the Godswoods where he would have sworn she had been armed.

“I bet you never pictured this happening when you gave me this dagger,” Sansa told her younger sister.

“Yet it makes me happy, and proud. Not because you committed murder, which is let’s face it, my daily bread, but because in a way, I was able to be there with you when you finally made the bitch pay for everything she inflicted upon you.”

Tyrion could see the knife was made of Dragonglass, and in more ways than one, it felt right that it should have ended his sister’s life. He also pinpointed where he had seen it and remembered that Sansa had taken it out in the crypt during the battle of Winterfell. So much time had passed since then, and yet in a way, they had come full circle.

Carefully, with more patience than he believed he had, he made his way to his wife, and made sure she saw that he was about to touch her wrist.

There were noise and he panicked until Jon erupted in the room, yelling the redhead’s name.

“Sansa!” Jon said, as he just walked right to his sister. “I’m so glad you’re fine”, he said, pulling her closer and kissing her forehead.

What a foolish man. As the owner of a direwolf, he should have known better than to go straight for the woman who had turned into a predator. However, and perhaps it was the Stark blood having magic properties, Sansa let her brother come close.

“I stuck her with the pointy end?” She repeated, showing the knife she had wielded.

Jon and Arya exchanged a stare, and Tyrion had no patience to try and decipher what they were secretly saying.

“That you did, my love,” he told the woman, and Tyrion felt intense jealousy.

He knew it was just the adrenaline talking, the rush of the moment, the relief of seeing her alive, and more things he could come up with, but he had never dared call  Sansa “his love” even though he had been trying to court her for months, and her brother who was really her cousin got to say it before he did.

Brienne and Jamie appeared too, and Tyrion was sorry for the loss in his brother’s eyes, though he noticed how fleeting the pain seemed to be. Jamie had been done with Cersei, and he had already spent months mourning the creature who was now on the ground in a pool of her own blood.

“Where is the baby?” He asked.

“Babies,” Sansa corrected, as she pointed to two bassinets further away.

Brienne looked gutted but resolved. Wishing the little ones out of existence would not work.

“What should we do with them?” She asked.

“Take them to the Vale,” Sansa offered. “Take Tormund with you. Once you all three are there, you can decide if you want to raise them, give them away, or throw them through the hole in the sky. In the meantime, Daenerys will not know where you’ve gone, and it will give you time to actually make a decision of your own and not follow her orders.”

“Sansa is right,” Jon said. “Dany… She will not deal well with Cersei being dead by anybody’s hand but hers, but if she sees those babies, I fear she might give them to the dragons. I can pacify her, if given the time. I can make her see, but you guys need to be on your way before I can start making her see or unsee whatever you want me to tell her.”

Tyrion felt like he was watching them all, himself included. He could tell what was going on. The bitch was dead, and she left behind twins obviously. Jamie as their father could not just pretend they did not exist. However, he was also involved in a very strange but also extremely working relationship with Brienne and Tormund. Turned out Brienne would not be one man’s woman, she was the goddess who allowed mere mortals to be part of her life. If people had known that back at Renly’s camp….

 Finally, he moved forward, and offered his hand to Sansa who was still in Jon’s embrace.

“Please give me your knife, my Lady,” he said.

For she was already taking care of everyone around her, even people she had all the reasons in the world to hate such as the latest batch of Lannisters twins, but it was time to take care of her.

She looked at him, trying to get an answer in his eyes but he did not know what she got.

“Would you marry a murderer?” She finally asked.

“I’d marry you any day, and you’re no murderer.”

Carefully, exchanging glances with Jon Snow and Arya, he put his hand over Sansa’s and got the knife she was crutching on to.

He let it fall, and she went the same way, fainting. Thankfully her brother caught her.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Jon went to Daenerys, while Arya helped him, getting Sansa in a bathtub. The servants provided water as though their queen had not been killed.

Sansa had woken up, and was so calm you would think she had turned into the three eyes raven herself.

Carefully, with Arya, Tyrion divested his wife of her dress, making sure to let her sister hide every part of her that he would not see until she wished him to. Having laid sheets on her chest and on top of her legs, they got to work, and started washing the blood away from her. Soon the water was red and they had to ask for more.

This was tedious work, for dried blood all but caked her hands and hair, but they got it done nevertheless. Sansa was still not herself, but he took care of her, as she was the most precious doll on earth.

Washing her hand proved to be difficult, and he got a glimpse of the top of her breasts, but also of several scars on her back, mementos of her time with Ramsay. When they were done washing away Cersei’s blood, they laid her in a bed, she had fainted again and Tyrion went to the window.

His sister was dead.

He did not care.

Was it wrong that it did not affect him?

He could hear their whole party downstairs, reclaiming the castle and starting something along the lines of a party, while also preparing for a coronation. Daenerys would be crowned in the morning, and Jon would be her consort. The two had found some middle ground shortly before arriving in King’s Landing, when the man had realized that he had already lost one woman he had loved more than words could express, and that he wanted to be by the dragon queen’s side when it came to having everything she hoped for come true.

Sure, he was hiding some things from her, such as his sister’s pregnancy, but the moment Dany was wearing that crown, a Baratheon baby would not feel like a threat anymore, he was sure of it, as long as no one spread the word about his lineage. Varys had gotten threatened in various ways to let him know that if the news were made public, well there were more parts of him he could still lose.

Cersei was dead. So was Tywin, and their cousins. With Jamie running to the Vale with Ser Brienne and Tormund, looking like he had made peace with his sister’s passing and being ready to start again somewhere else, there was not a Lannister in sight, but him.

He could hear Arya moving around in the bedroom, but felt lost in thought until something landed on his lap.

It was a direcub. He had no words. He looked at Arya, who was picking the cub she wanted her sister to have.

“Nymeria gave birth some time ago, and the cubs are the perfect age for you to form a bond of indefectible loyalty,” Arya said.”

“Mistress of Death, how….”

“Mistress of Death,” Arya repeated, “I like that. Though no one can master this lover. I guess it’s not the point. I promised my sister a direwolf, and she will have one when she comes to. I was looking at this cub, and pondered who it should go to.”

He looked at the furball in his lap, and had to stifle a laugh. If Ghost was scary because of his red eyes and white fur, this one looked like everything that could have gone wrong when two direwolves had a cub. It was smaller than the others, he just could tell, and its eyes did not match. There was a line of darker fur along his face, making him look as if he was two cubs sawn into one.

“He’ll be a killer, in good time, but right now he needs some care. Furthermore, he will not go anywhere where this one,” Arya said, lifting another beautiful cub with a red pelt, “is not.”

“If your sister asked me,” he said, almost unaware of the depth of what he was revealing, “I would forget my Lannister name and be a Snow, or a Stark if it felt like you would allow me this privilege. I roared like a lion, I played the part. Turns out, I’m just not the son my father tried to raise.”

“I heard Jon and Daenerys discuss as I was picking up the direwolf. She had agreed to a council, with one advisor for each Kingdom. Jon was pleading for you to be sent back with Sansa to the North, my sister being the Warden though. He was convincing her that dragons would always make communication easier if she really needed a word from her previous Hand, but that you had done what she had named you for, and that it was time to let you have a chance at whatever you wanted, which is, let’s be frank, “ Arya said, “bedding my sister.”

“I want more than that.”

“I know it. I’m just not…. Just because I fucked doesn’t mean I’m ready to start sweet talking about the gentle act of mutual love or whatever bullshit you come up with.”

He had to laugh.

“Tomorrow will be another day, Tyrion Stark,” she finally said. “I’m going to lay by my sister, so that she does not wake up alone. I would suggest you did the same. However if I see your hands any place they shouldn’t be, just ask yourself, where did that dragonglasss knife go?”

He nodded, and divested himself of his travel clothes, ending up in a night shirt that the servants had gotten out. He pulled It on, and went on Sansa’s other side on the bed. He took his direwolf with him.

What a strange thought. He had a direwolf of his own…. A beast who could not hesitate to kill him if he did anything wrong. Just like his lady…

Sansa’s cub was between her and her sister, and he spotted Nymeria hiding in the corner. The young woman would love her gift, and he would relish in her happiness.

How strange it felt, the battle was won, Daenerys would claim her throne again, and then it would be time to live again. Did he still know how people did just that?

He still had to win back his wife, was his only lingering thought as he fell in a deep and well-earned slumber.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please, let me hear your thoughts. What do you want to see most and foremost in the final part I'm planning?  
> Your words are fuel for my muse.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap. I'm not crying, you are.

Daenerys Stormborn was crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms then married her lover, Jon Snow, and announced she was pregnant with the couple's first child. To say it was a busy morning would have been a euphemism. People were still cleaning corpses in the streets of King’s Landing, from the battle which had allowed the Targyaren to claim back the Iron throne, and somewhere else, people were having a party.

Tyrion felt like it did not bode well for the reign of the new Queen, such a dichotomy between what her new subjects were experiencing while her subjects from before were invited to celebrate. The mother of dragons was doing a bad job at establishing herself as the mother of all her people. However, he had no doubt that Jon, Varys and Ser Davos would help her mend this rough start in the following days and week. He would have advised her to invite her new people to the banquet for her big day, but he was not Hand anymore.

Sansa had woken up during the night, stuck between her sister and her sometimes husband sometimes former husband sometimes friend, and she had all but broken down. Being back at King’s Landing was too much for her, and she was seeing Cersei in every corner, sure that everybody would be out to kill her once they learnt who had wielded the knife. Therefore, Arya had made Jon join them, and Tyrion had gone to his queen.

She had been in a surprisingly good mood, given everything one could have thought she had been deprived of, but with hindsight, Tyrion guessed the baby and the effect those had on women were playing a part in how she was reacting.

“I cannot keep you as my Hand,” she said when he bowed in front of her. “You’ll insist on staying married to that girl, and I will have to see her everyday of my life, pondering if she had anything to do whenever Jon and I will fight, for we will fight, we are both Targyaren. Therefore, I set you free. You are tasked with escorting lady Sansa and her siblings to Winterfell. When it is done, and you’ve made sure the North is loyal, I’ll grand you Casterly Rock, as a summer house, for your blood is not made for such cold weathers.”

What to say, what to say?”

“Thank you my queen. It was an honor serving as your Hand, but I feel strongly my task is done. I was only supposed to be your Hand until you claimed what was rightfully yours, and now you’ll need someone who will be able to give you good advice on how to keep it and win your people. I truly believe Varys should be named Hand, if you were to listen to my suggestion, for he knows King’s Landing better than anyone else. Ser Davos will be a good adviser too, having learnt from Stannis’s mistakes. As for Jon, while he may love his cousins, considering them sisters and brothers, I know that his loyalty rest with you. You’ll have a consort who will put you first and foremost, and you’ll need it when you’re stuck trying to get everyone to be happy together.”

“Plus, he’ll keep me from going insane…. I’ve heard the whispers, lord Tyrion. I’ve done some thinking of my own too. I’ve wondered often if this was the path I would follow, and I dread it. However, with such good men by my sides, I’ll try to reign the Targyaren in. Jon is asking his younger sister to kill me right as we speak, if I should ever stop listening to him or try to harm him in any way. It is not ideal, one being confronted with what people think you’ll do, what you worry you might do truthfully too. Therefore, I’m appointing my own Queenslayer, just in case. I have a baby growing inside me again, despite what the old crone said a thousand years and then some, and it’s giving me perspective. I was so ashamed of being the Mad King’s daughter. I will do my best not to inflict this on my child.”

“My queen, such joyful news…”

“Indeed.” The woman said, with a hand on her small baby bump, which had been hidden when they were traveling.

“But how do you want me to guarantee the Northeners’ faith?”

“Just give them back their precious lady. There should always be a Stark in Winterfell. You would agree, I’m sure.”

“Indeed,” he admitted, thankful that Jon seemed to have gotten to her with such simple facts that would make her reign easier.

“If the lady wants you, you are allowed to call her your wife once again. If she doesn’t, well I’m sure you’ll find a woman with large assets to keep you company. You’ll stay stationed North most of the time, Sansa being the warden officially, and you’ll be her advisor. I was also thinking of sending that squire, what’s his name again? Pid… No, Pod. You’ll be the brain if a battle has to be planned, and he will carry out your orders on the field.”

“What about Arya?”

“I have no plans for her. I don’t think anyone could. Jon keeps telling me his sister came too far to be reigned in, and after witnessing her and her direwolf, I would agree. He told me there was a man she longed to see again, back in Winterfell, and should they choose to, I would give their union my blessing too. However Jon seems quite certain that Arya will be his companion but never his wife, something about being too independent.”

“I’d bet good coin he’s right about that…” Tyrion said, wondering if the Baratheon connection had been revealed to the queen. “My Lady, I will not lie to you. I had come to ask you permission to take lady Sansa back to Winterfell. Killing Cersei the Usurper took a great toll on her spirit, and I believe she needs to be surrounded by her people, to know she is needed as their Lady, their queen in the North if you will allow me this expression, in order to get back to a place where she can be herself again.”

“I guess our interests meet, perhaps for the last time in a while. Please have the Lady assist my coronation, for I will marry her cousin on the same day. He will want her there, and I will not deprive him of that comfort. I know his heart is already broken by the fact that we will be mostly staying in King’s Landing, and I’m trying to ease his ache. But if you agree this is the best course, you would all appear for those events, and then be on your way, for Sansa’s sake.”

If he wondered for a second she was worried people might still have fond memory of his Lady, he kept those thoughts to himself.

“Oh, and one last thing, Tyrion. Should your brother be found, I’ll have him beheaded, along with whomever accompanies him. “

Good thing Cersei had just given birth when they had barged in and the news of her double delivery had not been made public, not even been told to Euron who was now awaiting execution in a cell. They had been able to spin it, saying that Cersei had given birth to a dead babe whom she had creepily put in a crib until she had gotten Sansa with her to the highest tower where the thing was, and the young woman had tossed it to the fire, while fighting Cersei.

He bowed, thanked her again, and went back to the room where the Starks were talking. Even the three eyed raven had joined them.

“Do you want a direwolf?’ Arya was asking the boy in the chair. “I was not sure if it would be of any use to you.”

“I think I’d like one, if you had one to spare. I do miss Summer.”

“Then there is yours,” Arya said, searching underneath the bed and making a small cub appear. He looked thoughtful, pensive, and feral.

“I shall call him Shaggy Dog, in honor of our late brother.”

They were all on the large bed, and he saw them altogether lower their head, thinking about Rickon and his wolf. Sansa wiped a tear away, and Jon discreetly did the same.

“What name will you give your direwolf, Tyrion?” Arya asked him.

 “I did not have time to give it any thought.”

“You should call him Duncan. Sansa already named hers Jenny.”

Tyrion had a sweet smile, thinking about the story of Jenny of Oldstones who had married a Targyaren prince and had won this battle. He looked at his would-be wife, and saw that she was hugging her cub as close as she could to her heart, as if drawing strength from the creature.

“What do you say, My Lady, would you let the cub your sister so graciously gave me be named in such a fashion?”

“It is yours, my Lord, you get to decide,” Sansa said softly.

“Then I decide so. As I am forever trailing after you and my direwolf seems to be hanging on to yours, I believe the linked names will suit them. Gods, a direwolf of my own… If my father had known… I bet he’s trying to surge back from the dead wherever he is to call me names.”

“You’re a Stark now,” Arya said.

“I’m a Snow. I’ll only be a Stark when your sister gives me her hand.”

“Alright, Tyrion Snow. What did the Ice queen say?” Arya then said, trying to protect her sister from making an hasty decision it seemed.

He obliged.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Winter had come, and they did not know how long it would last, but Tyrion had patience. Sure, even he had been a sweet child of summer before the season had changed, but he had learnt many things in these past years.

The first one: you made your own family.

The second one: some women were immune to his charm.

The third one; his direwolf would soon be able to carry him on his back if it kept growing.

“Don’t be such a show off, Duncan,” he told the beast, “you’re making me look bad. Jenny knows that you’re the one she should worship.”

The not-yet fully grown direwolf whimpered, upon hearing the name of his sister.

They had been back in Winterfell for two months now, and Arya was as close to term as she would ever be. Gendry did not know, which amazed Tyrion, given than the two had started shacking up in the castle. The lady of Death was really a force to be reckoned with.

When they had arrived, the very first night, he had seen the look on the northerners’ face at his being back. Arya had talked, as Sansa had been silent for the past couple of days. That night, a feast had been put forward, for all to celebrate the return of their Lady. She had smiled during the dinner before excusing herself. Arya had told the tale of how her sister had defeated Cersei and this version would definitely end up being used by nans to scare their grandchildren in the future. The Stark sisters, killers at heart to anyone who was not one of them.

As it had been the brunette who had spoken, and explained the arrangement with Pod on his way to become their commander, the people had listened to her and had sometimes begrudgingly agreed. As far as he was concerned, though, there had been a gasp when she had introduced him as Tyrion Snow. They had cheered the end of the Lannister house, and he had toasted with them, though only drinking mead.

Things had gone on from there. At first, Sansa had taken to inventorying everything she could think of in order to get her people through winter. She had sent some wildlings left behind to negotiate with their people to see if a peace could be arranged, and it turned out it could. Everybody remembered the white walkers, and the rivalry that had sparked previously the relationship between Winterfell and the wilding tribes now felt extremely petty, and unworthy of everyone’s time.

Tyrion had found a place, one he hoped could be temporary, helping with the finances, as well as supervising the repairs Sansa had asked for, in the order she had set them out, accordingly to urgency. He spent most of his days on the domain, overseeing the workers, offering them help when they faced trouble, and while they did not like him, they slowly learned to trust his advice when it came to things he knew better. He would even go as far as saying that in the last weeks or so, it had stopped feeling like they were waiting for him to go back to King’s Landing.

Sansa had needed time. She had been the victim of violence beyond words, and even though Cersei had deserved a much bloodier death than the one she got, it had been a blow to his lady’s psyche.

Every night, they had dinner together. He would sit by her side, Bran on the other one, and they’d make small chitchat.

When they were done, he would walk her back to her bedroom, their direwolves following them. He would make a joke, or an actual observation on something they needed to do for the people of Winterfell, and she’d look at him as if she was realizing that he meant it, that he wanted her people to have a good life and not suffer.

They had not talked about marrying again, even though the maids and matrons of the castle could be heard making bets or telling saucy jokes about the reputation imps had in the sack. Sansa was not there yet, and he did not need her to be. He only needed to know that his presence did not make things worse for her, and perhaps, even made it slightly easier.

One night, she invited him in for chess, and he was sure he had won the lottery. Oh, for sure, he would be getting no loving, he was no fool, but he had been invited in her chambers, and it had felt so intimate, much more than two bodies thrusting against one another. It had fueled fantasies nonetheless in his mind.

It became an habit. Every evening, she would offer chess, or just tea. Who would have bet on him having a favorite flavor of tea? He never would have. As he was sipping his beverage with pleasure, she had whispered softly:

“What if I can never be a woman again?”

He had been startled but had acted, knowing no answer would be worse than anything other.

“You are a woman, my Lady.”

“You know what I mean… We used to joke about getting married again, or just deciding that our union had been contracted in good faith and that everything that happened later on was to be pushed aside. I would joke with you. It was a fun idea. I was certain you would always choose your dragon queen over me. And now, she’s over there, and you’re… here, and I….”

“I am where I need to be.”

“What If I can not join you in bed?” she asked, and the fear in her eyes had felt like a beast was clawing at his heart.

“What about it?”

“I… I have given this so much thoughts. I would like I think to be married again to you. However you should not have a bride who would not think about your needs….”

“I absolutely should, if the bride was you.”

“You say that now, but I remember when we were first married. You were not chaste, no matter your declaration about your watch having begun,” she whispered.

What had felt like daggers was the fact that she had not been angry about it. She had stated the truth, because she had processed it, and decided it was normal for him to seek pleasure elsewhere.

“I was an arse. I was unworthy of you, and truth be told, we should be happy I never tried to exercise my so-called marital rights. I don’t want a woman who doesn’t want me.”

“But you want a woman.”

“It would be a lie to pretend I don’t feel anything of that sort, but my Lady, if nothing, have I not proved that I can be constant, and faithful? I can barely remember the last time I took anyone to bed, even before we were reunited. Seeing you made it more obvious to me, that I just wouldn’t go back to my philandering ways.”

“What about your doves?”

He came to stand close to her, though not touching her. He slowly approached his hand and she let him take hers.

“There are plenty of orphans begging to be adopted. Doves are doves.”

“You have an answer for everything,” she whispered with a sad smile.

“I don’t. But I try.”

They had drunk their tea silently from then.

It had made him think. Indeed, he wanted doves, and he had thought he would have convinced her by now, but he discovered that he would take the current arrangement over something she was not comfortable with.

He was awaken one night by Duncan howling. He got out of bed, feeling dread. Had he not seen enough battles for one lifetime or two?

Jenny was crying too, and he followed his wolf who was going for his sister.

Arya was giving birth. Sansa was in charge, looking more like herself than ever. She had sense, a purpose. She knew what she had to do, and she would do it. She ordered him to get water and sheets, and while the help would know, they knew they could rely on their fidelity no matter what happened.

Lyanna Stark came into this world with dawn, screaming at the top of her lungs. Gendry’s reaction was pretty much priceless, as he still had not noticed that his loved one was changing. Baratheon men… Baratheon oafs.

As he looked over the little girl who was finally sleeping, having been fed a bottle waiting for her mother to be able to nurse her, Sansa came to stand by him.

“I wrote to Jon, saying that one of our cousins had given birth. I did not give names, since he is supposed to be our cousin himself. I know he’ll read between the lines.”

He felt very defensive of the little thing, though being born to the lady of Death, she would probably be immune to anything and everything.

Arya was not very maternal, no matter how many times she tried, and Gendry did his best. Sansa was always there for them. He was of course by her side. Sometimes he wondered about the children his brother was bringing up in the Vale with two co-parents. So strange how life could prove you were more like someone than you thought… They received words, from time to time, cryptic messages written in wildling tongue. The two girls were growing, Joanna and Ygritte. They were about to be joined by another child.

One night, as his redhead was telling stories to little Lyanna, Tyrion thought that he could not be happier. Everyone could find their happiness their own way, and he felt like he had found his.

“Husband,” Sansa said.

“Yes?” He asked, feeling warm all over.

“I’m trying it out for size. Husband. Hus-band. Hu-sband.”

“How you torture me, my Lady,” he jibed, but took this small victory for what it was.

Then his nameday came. He did not expect anything to happen, his birth had been cursed more than it had been celebrated.

However, he listened to Arya who gave him some clothes Jon had worn, cut to his size. She looked like she knew something he didn’t. Correction, she knew so many things he did not, but she seemed to hold onto this tidbit of information in particular in a very particular fashion.

When he got downstairs for dinner, he realized that a second chair had been put next to Sansa’s, a master chair. He was walking on shaky legs over there, wondering if Bran was getting a promotion.

Sansa stopped him in the middle of the hall, and took his hand.

Before he could stop her, she got on her knees in front him, and he wanted nothing more than to have her get up. He was not worthy of whatever she was doing.

“My Lord, I spent the day in the Godswoods, praying to the old Gods to bless our union, should you choose to accept me as your bride. Will you be my husband, once again?”

The whole hall was holding its breath, and he looked over at Arya who said:

“What do you say, brother, are you ready to pony up and actually get your woman back?”

He fell to his knee in front of the woman he had loved for so long.

“Of course, my love, of course, wife. I only wished I never stopped being your husband, for you are all I need to be worthy of walking this earth.”

“Then rise, Tyrion Stark, and lead your wife to your chairs,” Sansa said, with tears in her eyes.

He had no memory of that dinner. There had been treats of various kind, but he had helt his hand in Sansa’s and he could have been fed dirt, he would not have been able to tell the difference.

Her sister, that annoying deathly creature, whisked his wife away, telling him to wait before going to the main bedroom.

“What… What happened?” He found himself asking Bran, of all people.

“Sansa is ready. Maybe you never realized it, but this is meant to be. I could see before it happened. She needed to be back where she belonged, with her people, learning to love again with little Lyanna, discovering Tyrion Snow, in order to be able to move forward.”

They stayed silent until he was supposed to get up. Bran stopped him in his track and said:

“I may not be her brother anymore, or the brother she wished I was, but hurt her and I will send a thousand doves to eat you alive.”

Tyrion nodded in understanding.

As he made his way up, he knocked on the master bedroom, and Arya opened the door. She did not say a thing, only called for Duncan and Jenny to follow her.

Feeling like a teenager about to see the smallest amount of naked skin, he took a deep breath, then went in.

Sansa was inside, looking nervous but certain.

“I would never hurt you,” He blurted out when she bowed to meet him.

“And I you,” she promised.

This was the one nameday he would always remember.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“Elia, Catryn!” Tyrion exclaimed as the twins managed to escape their high chairs. “I told you, your mother is sleeping!”

“Mama! Mama!” one of the readhead started chanting, and the other followed suit.

“I’m not asleep anymore,” he heard his wife say from two rooms down.

This was all the little girls needed before running as fast as they could into their parents’ bedroom.

Tyrion had fought giants, night kings, white walkers, his sister, dragons, and more. Nothing had prepared him for his own brood.

He followed them and helped them get on the bed, nestling again their mother.

He lied with them, his hand's and Sansa’s linking, instinctively.

“You wanted doves…” She said, in a sing song-y voice.

“Careful what you wish for…” He muttered.

She laughed and listened to their daughters.

He carefully put a hand upon her protuberant belly.

“I can tell they’re two, this time too,” Sansa said, while caressing Elia’s hair.

“I’m getting too old for this…”

“Who said they were yours?” his mischievous wife replied.

He gaped, then said:

“Oh, you’ll pay. You will pay, woman. More doves, mark my words.”

“I do enjoy the leg work that lead to them being conceived,” she said, and he couldn’t help but kiss her, prompting disgusted noises from their children.

“Ugh, Papa and Mama are kissing again,” Ned said upon entering the room with his twin sister. “Don’t look, Brianna.”

“Let’s go play with Lyanna!” The six years old girl said.

“To think once this house was all but dead,” Sansa said.

“It was sleeping, as you should be.”

“Did you receive words from Jon?”

“I did. Rhaegar is getting bigger by the minute.”

They did not mention the fact that this would the only son the Queen and her consort would ever have. The birth had been a brutal one, and the blood had needed to be cauterized, signaling the end of Daenerys’ fertile days.

They also knew that the prince was as normal a boy he was supposed to be. Perhaps it had been a blessing in disguise, through tragedy, for Jon and Dany to only have one child, for the queen who had always feared as much as her entourage that she could go mad, now had one reason to stay sane, and fight her demons, with the help of her Consort.

Jamie, Brienne and Tormund were common visitors of the castle, and no one ever commented on the fact that some of the woman’s children had blond hair, others reddish, and some golden.

Tyrion repeated himself his first discovery, you made your own family.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Fifteen years later, when Lyanna Stark married Rhaegar Targyaren, she was surrounded by her nine cousins as maids of honors. There once had been the Seven Gods. Now people had learnt to fear the Nine Doves of the North.

All prayed they would not risk their wrath for they were soft and nice until they were not, something their aunt Arya seemed to cultivate in them. They were a force to be reckoned with, and the Seven Kingdoms lived with tales of their beauty, their sisterly love, their wisdom, and their ruthlessness, who could be directed at anybody. Their brothers were feared too, but people knew who the real dangers were.

Tyrion just cared that they sill called him “papa”, and would, until it would be time for him to kiss them one last time, along side their mother, before taking his last breath, one of love, of the purest kind.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done. Please do review.  
> This week's episode may smash down my story to the ground, but I will have enjoyed putting this universe out there for everybody to enjoy.  
> I'm thinking of opening a tumbler where prompts could be posted, thoughts? Or you could just leave your prompts here...  
> I guess my point is, why did it have to end?  
> Pouty writer is pouty.

**Author's Note:**

> If you read, plase review or kudos, or anything. It would be nice to know I'm not alone out there!  
> I have so much more to write, more than I'll be sharing, but I'm selfishly bathing in this newfound haven where my OTP is not taboo.


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